(SIX) At the Pleasure of the Damned

Fantasmagoria

Gilbert felt his skin flush and his stomach boil before he had time to return the cup to the floor, and he knew he had just drunk poison. He looked up at the three figures on the tattered brick balcony overhead. They were shrouded in black robes and each wore a tribal mask—horned, flame-tongued, and angry. The acolytes of the assassin cult were unmoved.

…